


Life Goes On

by Lene3161



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, James will pine, M/M, Moving On, Q snaps James out of his wallowing, Q will thrive, Substance abuse & self-destructive behaviour thy name is James Bond, but that's to be expected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lene3161/pseuds/Lene3161
Summary: Read: Q moves on like the badass he isJames left. Yes, Q and everyone else is hurt. Especially Q. But life doesn't stop when someone you love is gone, and when Q drags James back to England two years later, James found that his remaining anchors in life have changed.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Q will have several male lovers, and I based one of Q's lovers on myself. James will be an arse. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of chapters containing sensitive material.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: Dammit Bond, how could you?

James is gone. Of course, he- _they_ , by which he meant the entirety of MI6-knew it would happen one day. They all knew 00-agents don’t last forever. There will come a time when an enemy got lucky, an agent got reckless, intel was wrong, or God forbid(and Q shudders to even _think_ about it) an equipment malfunction occur. Nothing lasts forever-and that includes a certain blue-eyed agent who always seem to get off mostly scot-free.

 

Q is certain, however, that nobody in MI6 ever expected _this_.

 

And why would they? Granted, everybody knew Jame- _Bond,_ is a selfish, _selfish_ arsehole. The only way he would go to debriefings instead of drinking himself to oblivion or shagging Random Flavour of The Night was if someone, usually Eve, Bill, Q and even occasionally M _himself_ pestered him to show up. 007 destroys equipment without caring for the time and budget that went into crafting said equipment. He manipulated people without a care, from scared little baby interns to the Quartermaster himself. But still, that was to be expected. On the list of quirks a killing machine could have, selfishness and manipulative tactics was just par for the course.

 

But _this_? This is so far beyond selfish it’s not even funny.

 

Leaving MI6 in the middle of the biggest infiltration of intelligence agencies in the history of infiltrations, global upheaval resulting from said infiltrations, and the uncertainty of knowing who exactly to trust among your colleagues? Abandoning them in such a crisis, and all for what-a pretty girl with some nice curves and dad-

 

No. Oh hell _no_. ‘Dammit, Benjamin!’ Q screamed internally. ‘Listen to yourself! Can you be any more of a jealous, condescending misogynistic prick, you-you-!’ Groaning, Q slumped over his desk. He rubbed his eyes. He wondered what it said about him that he hated _Doctor_ Swann who is a grown, accomplished _woman_ who has her own life that was entirely separate from a certain Double-O’s. Oh he knows it’s utterly stupid, to resent a woman he hardly exchanged words with. But still-it was just so _easy_ , to hurl venom at Doctor Swann because she wasn’t there. To say Q _loathed_ his utterly unfair response is an understatement. It was tempting, because if it wasn’t Doctor Swann then-it meant…James just _didn’t care_.

 

Q supposed his resentment of them both is utterly unfair. After all, Ja- _Bond_ , deserved happiness. And if it meant leaving MI6? Well, there are worse things you can do in the pursuit of happiness. But leaving without goodbye is just… ~~it’s hurtful, especially after nearly getting _shot_~~ a pain, alright? So the timing is terrible-but at least Bond got out of something he couldn’t find joy in anymore. And hopefully Doctor Swann can find happiness too. Q hopes both of them will find the happiness they deserve-Lord knows the world has enough terrible things in it. Let two people who deserve love and joy find it.

 

Q grimaced, and rubbed his eyes. It was about four hours after Bond left with Doctor Swann. M had told him to go home and rest. For once, Q had disobeyed M’s order and his body’s demand for rest and food(he didn’t understand where the stereotype of Q-Branch boffins overworking and starving themselves came from. It only happens during tough or surprise missions, or both. The only thing that sort of workaholism during relatively easy days leads to is just illness, which will then lower mission success rates) and simply went home to change into a new suit, and feed and cuddle his cats for a bit. He wondered if he should go to the coffee shop near the MI6 building and get coffee and something to eat for himself and the other workers in the building. M, who immediately went straight to his office like the hypocrite he is, would need it the most, consideringthe shitstorm-or is it shitstunami?-he would face from the other government officials looking for somebody to blame for the infiltration(as if _they_ themselves noticed. They just wanted to cover their arses and look good to the world.) Who knows, maybe the hateful taste of coffee would take off the sting of realizing he’d just been taken advantage of-

 

‘No, Benjamin. This isn’t the time for that. You need to take care of things. Do it first, then you can rage all you want. MI6 needs Q right now, not Benjamin Wilkes.’ Q straightened up immediately. He took a deep breath, and resumed working instead of staring blankly at the code of the MI6 firewalls while thinking. Who knows what C and SPECTRE left behind, and he needed to do his job instead of ~~mourning~~ being foolishly annoyed at Jam-Bond.

 

-00Q-

 

Q was startled out of work mode by the sound of the lift to the bunker going down. He’d been working for-he checked the clock on his computer. He’d been working for the past hour. Combined with the time he spent before his bout of pique, it meant he’d spent…three hours total working. And all before _nine._ He hadn’t expected the vultures calling themselves government inspectors to feast before one o’clock at the very least. God, he hated his life sometimes. He immediately put on his ‘hello government official, everything is fine and dandy here, I promise’ expression and prepared himself to stand up to greet them. No sense to be seen acting all high-and-mighty in their eyes, especially with the Silva Incident on his record. What followed was completely unexpected.

 

Q had been expecting a team of eagle-eyed people he needed to pacify. Or some particularly hardworking Q-Branch workers who wanted to help MI6. Hell, he’s even ready for Stephen, that bastard who was sensitive as a sunburn and somehow twice as annoying with wandering hands who expected Q to ‘please’ him for a good verdict. Q had given him a good bollocking and complained to HR, yet the man had only sauntered in smugly the next time an inspection was due and nitpicked everything he saw. Thankfully the other inspectors felt Q was doing excellently and didn’t pay any attention to Stephen.

 

Thus, Q was blindsided when James was the one who sauntered in with his usual swagger. He’d thought James had retired, and said as much. Even as he did, though, he felt silly for asking. _Of course_ the man wouldn’t leave-at least not yet. Sure, he will eventually, but not now. Not when they need him so much. Maybe Q could convince him to stay? And form a relationship with him. A real one, instead of the Arrangement they had. But would Doctor Swann take offense? Or did James work her out of his system? Maybe it was just post-battle adrenaline? After all, James was _here_. That must mean he wasn’t retiring.

 

“I am. There’s just one thing I need.”

 

What?

 

‘Does this mean he came back for me?’ Q had fantasized about this, of course. About James deciding to retire and taking him away somewhere for a celebratory holiday filled with shagging. He couldn’t help it, the man was so magnetic. He’d always scolded himself for thinking that. James was unlikely to ever retire, and would likely meet his death during a mission. Q hated to think of such a good man getting a death that terrible, so he’d buried such thoughts and decided to prolong James’ life by working his best and making sure James reached mandatory retirement age and was thus set free to civilian life, as the man would never retire voluntarily.

 

“What is it, then, Bond?” Q wanted to hear it from the man’s (gorgeous) lips. He felt like he was going to explode from joy. Here was his greatest wish, handed to him on a silver platter. This made almost getting kidnapped, almost getting shot and the ruined laptop screen worth it.

 

“The DB5, Q.” What? He must have misheard. Q looked at James’s face. No, he didn’t. The man was going to take the car he worked on during his scant free time, with his own hands and money, and use it to go off somewhere with his new beau.

 

Q felt bitterness flood him. He doubted the sting of realizing he was just a tool, that all his efforts was taken for granted would ever fade. That his feelings for Jam- _Bond_ , the lengths he’d go to for the man, was taken as Bond’s due and not the precious gift it was. Especially because they’d-

 

Well. Their time together obviously meant more to Q than Bond. He’d honestly thought there was something beyond what their arrangement started out as-namely a purely physical arrangement with someone they were reasonably sure wouldn’t kill them in the night(for Ja-dammit _Bond_!) and a honeypot(for Q). Though the latter wasn’t exactly _wrong_ , was it? Q felt the hysterical urge to laugh at the realization that by trying to avoid a honeypot, he’d been seduced by one. Hadn’t he done more than he should, gave what he shouldn’t for a man who felt nothing for him? God, he’d been so naive. Well, at least he could take solace in the fact he was seduced by one of the greatest honeypots in the world.

 

Q turned away from Bond stiffly. If the man noticed, at least he had the grace to not mention it. Q marched to the car, and showed James all the extras he’d put in the car-from the improved engine to every single weapon he’d installed. He wanted the man to know just how much effort he poured into the car in hopes the man would be happy. Who knows, maybe James would magically get an ounce of decency and actually _say goodbye_ to Q. And thank him properly-not the empty, perfunctory gesture he always gave Q, but a real ‘thank you’ full of gratitude. After all, he can’t actually prevent Bond taking what was legally his possession. He can, however, guilt-trip Bond into good behaviour. Being nice was the least the bastard could do after everything Q did for him.

 

“Thank you, Q.” James said after Q was done showing off the car. Again with the bloody words he only said for show! James got in and immediately took off to Doctor Swann-and to retirement.

 

Q stared after him. He couldn’t believe this. All that time with each other, the dinners, the breakfasts during the morning afters...it all meant nothing for James. _Nothing_. He knew James noticed his feelings. He’d thought James had returned it too, but had decided to stay with an Arrangement because he felt they didn’t need anything formalized, becuase they both knew they loved each other. After all, hadn’t the man stopped looking for another lay after Q? Cuddled with him? Hell, the man had cooked for him! But no. It was all just a ploy. Q felt furious and hurt. He felt so incredibly used.

 

Q resisted the urge to scream. And cry. And hack any database he shouldn’t hack, because he’d promised himself to get rid of that particular coping method. He took deep breaths, trying to control himself; and blinked rapidly so the tears he felt gathering wouldn’t fall. No use. One fell from each eye. Q bit his lip until it almost bled, and wiped his eyes. Yes, he’d been left behind( _again)_. But he needed to focus on work right now. He can break down later.

 

James left, yes. But the world still turns, work still needed to be done, people still needed Q to do his job. He still has a life ahead of him, and he won’t waste it mourning a cruel, manipulative twat. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Work, break down, and move on. Such was life, he supposed.

 

Q nodded decisively, before sitting behind his computer. Ah, C had decided to leave behind a rather nasty virus. He’ll get rid of it.


	2. Of Exhaustion and Burnout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q was getting ready to burn MI6 down and dance on the ashes. Not that he’d ever say that out loud-he might as well be locking himself in the interrogation room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very happy about this chapter, but I'm back in school and may not be able to work on this more, so I'll just post what I managed to write

* * *

As it happens, Q didn't get the chance to confront his feelings for quite a while. He absolutely hated it, because the sooner he could get it over and done with, the sooner he can live without the shadow of loss. It sounded cold and transactional, but Q was nothing but practical, even in matters of the heart. He knew Ja- _Bond_ was off enjoying retirement and there was nothing he could do about it, so the best thing to do would be to let go. It hurt, yes, but he understood it was necessary for himself. 

 

Q had been so busy figuring out who among MI6 could possibly be SPECTRE, dealing with the emotional upheaval from finding out just who among his colleagues were traitors, assuring government officials MI6 would stand strong and be alright, dealing with the merger with MI5, fixing the holes in MI6's firewalls( _why_ must the Q-Branch minion assigned to monitoring the firewalls be working for C? Maybe if he was more observant, he'd realize something was amiss since the MI6-MI5 merger was proposed. Goddammit, goddammit), that by the time he stopped and just let himself  _breathe_ , it had been five days since Ja-Bond had left. Five days of constantly drinking disgusting coffee because he needed the time sleep would have taken, and stolen catnaps on the sofa in his private office when he couldn't handle the exhaustion anymore. Five days of dealing with idiots and moles, of only going home once to take a few shirts and some underwear, of his cats being left in the hands of Mrs. Dewan who lived in the flat across from his. It almost felt like Silva again, except that the animosity was directed at not just him, but everyone. Thank God for that, he didn't think he could handle being under the microscope like that again. And if he felt a little bit vindictive and gleeful at the way everybody now knew how he felt during the Silva incident-well, nobody needed to know except for himself. Maybe he should get nearly shot by enemies more often, as it seemed to make his job easier.

 

( _'Such a rookie mistake he made. Is he even fit for the role of Quartermaster? is he a mole do you think he's M's toyboy and that's why he's here I heard he has a criminal past this is his fault ~~we need somebody to blame and Bond is a known entity better he be left alone and he might kill us all if he's blamed look at him he's a hair away from snapping MI6 needs stability right now and he never seems to change from the witty womanizer he is Mallory can't be seen as incompetent so let's pin it on Q~~ because he's ~~wrong arrogant disloyal untrustworthy~~ very inexperienced_)

(He'd always suspected, but had never dared think,  _confirm_... He somehow kept his composure and didn't break down into tears, but it was a near thing. Then he made his mistake. Later on, after he was raked over the coals by higher-ups for his role in the whole mess, he can't help but be proud that he'd managed to hide his emotions from 007, the greatest agent of the Double-0 division. As it was, he'll never become M like how he once dreamt of because of the black mark on his record it caused. 007 got off lightly compared to him. Higher-ups thought he'd die in the field soon, so he was cleared to allow MI6 to get some last use of him. They knew Q felt a moral responsibility to stay in MI6 to prevent anybody experiencing what He went through(Tiago-or La Fantasma, that was his hacker handle, would probably laugh at him and tell him agents dying painfully from moles was just to be expected. Of course, he didn't know that M covered up Tiago's capture by lying about moles when he asked what happened to the nice MI6 hacker after he was recruited. He was suspicious, though) and felt safe in emphasizing his mistakes and diminishing his contributions.

His branch thought he had been shocked into carelessness by the brutality of what happened to Silva. They were right-but not for the reasons they think. They felt they also played a role in the outcome of Skyfall, because when he was just the mysterious boffin named Benedict Wilson M picked up somewhere and told Major Boothroyd to employ; as Q-Branch's then-youngest member with a frailty they sensed was caused by great pain, they'd coddled him by giving him easier missions with less gore to direct even though they knew he was just as competent as most of the senior members of Q-Branch. He'd been irritated by the kid gloves then. But now, he was supremely grateful for them, because after word got out about Skyfall his branch countered the vicious rumours by admitting they somewhat sidelined him when it came to direct experience with missions so it was no surprise Silva got out. That helped to take a bit of the edge off the rumours the gossipmongers spread, but it did cause Q-Branch to be side-eyed a lot until Q proved his competence.)

 

Q rubbed his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to cuddle his cats, slip into a hot bath and drink some wine. But for now, laying on his office sofa for a quick rest would have to do. He still needed to go to yet  _another_ meeting discussing how MI5 employees would work together with MI6, and to discuss countermeasures to infiltration. He didn't care about that. He knew on some level that he should feel worried about the results of the meeting, but he just...can't. He was far too tired emotionally to care. It was worrying, as he never dealt well with burnout. He always ended up doing something reckless just to feel alive, and not a worn-out husk who had everything sapped out of him. Case in point-the hacking spree he went on after Daddy fell into a coma. Back then, he’d decided to ruin the life of the drunk driver who crashed into Daddy’s car, and riding on the adrenaline high afer watching her life unravel, decided to ruin several other vermin who were in high positions...and MI6. He had gotten caught, but M realized who he was.

 

She had immediately told him she would give him two options: imprisonment, or working for MI6. According to her, the only reason he was given the latter option was because she remembered Tiago Rodriguez’s offhand remark about an adorable dark-haired green-eyed hacker who he caught putting false purchases of sex toys on the credit card belonging to a British diplomat he was supposed to be guarding against an attack. He had decided to occasionally mentor the hacker, in hopes of finding the hacker’s potential grow. And besides, said hacker could also be an asset for MI6.

 

He immediately jumped on the offer. He didn’t think he had ever been so grateful to someone else, because he knew she must have spent a lot of favours to get him away from prison. Not even when Tiago had helped him hack into the bank his bully’s father managed so they could make it look like the father messed up enough to get fired-a neat way of shaming his bully and getting him pulled out of school at the same time, since he wouldn’t be able to afford going to Eton anymore. His fourteen-year-old self had idolized the older man for it. He wondered how Tiago would feel seeing him now. Would he be proud? Would he look at him in disgust? He’d never know. He should have hated James, because he killed Raoul, but he didn’t. Raoul Silva had long since replaced Tiago Rodriguez. James Bond had just killed the shell housing Silva.

 

Q jerked as his phone rang. Answering the call, he was told by an equally exhausted Eve to ‘get your arse to meeting room four, we’ve been waiting fifteen minutes and everyone’s pissed’. Groaning when he realised he had made the meeting worse by spending too long in his head, he picked up his tablet and ran to do his duty. God, he hoped his workload would return to normal soon. He didn’t think he could handle much more before he snapped. 


	3. A Terrible Colleague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get some rest. That was M’s order. An order Q grudgingly acknowledged was a good idea. He just hoped his new colleagues were professional enough not to let things fall apart out of spite, because fuck Stephen, the bloody pillock. Why must he be assigned to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said last chapter that this update will have Bond’s POV? Well, the plot got away from me. Let’s just say Q does what he wants.
> 
> All tech and intelligence agency-super-secret-spy stuff over here is 70% research and 30% pure fantasy. 
> 
> Also note that while I have been sexually harassed before, it had never occurred in a professional setting to me, thank God for that. So I hope I did Q's situation correctly. If I haven't, let me know-especially as my first language isn’t English.

Q wanted to scream. The meeting was terrible. Everybody was snappish and on edge, and there he was, a perfect punching bag for them to vent their tension on. Was this his destiny? Be a scapegoat to MI6 for all eternity? What was worse,  _Stephen_ was there. Stephen! That bloody pervert!

 

Logically, he knew the ISC inspectors would need to be at the meeting to find out how exactly this mess happened. But  _him_? He was reasonably competent, Q would give him that. He was rational enough to know that Stephen was actually good at his job, no matter how much Q denigrated him in his head. Just not towards Q-Branch, because he felt insulted by Q’s refusal. Q had checked Stephen’s record after HR didn’t do anything against him. The bastard turned out to have no record of indiscretion, minus Q's complaint(which he got only a mild reprimand for, honestly _fuck HR_ ). Of course, that didn’t mean nothing happened aside from his... _incident_ with Q. Some of his victims could be intimidated into silence, or didn’t say anything because they weren’t sure if they would be heard. Q kept tabs on him, of course. Any sexual harassment reported, he would know. But it seemed Q was a one-off thing. Stephen seemed to see Q's precarious situation as a good opportunity for a lay, and was thus bold enough to initiate things, knowing there was very little Q could do in his position. It made Q detest him all the more, knowing the man either slipped up his control on predatory behaviour enough to harass Q, or he was good at picking victims that were too scared to do anything. Either way, it made the man somebody to avoid.

 

But Q endured. He was not going to show the bastard his disdain for him. Q was a professional above all else. Q would keep a calm facade and then rage at Stephen in private. He wished he could ruin Stephen’s credit score, but any investigation would surely show his hacking style and he would be prosecuted. 

 

"To prevent anything like recent events from happening ever again, there will be an ISC inspector working closely with each department head and their MI5 colleague. We have decided that Stephen Jones would be working together closely with Q and Richard Farley, his domestic counterpart. As he had once worked for MI5’s Technology Section before moving on to ISC, we feel Stephen would be the perfect man for the job.” The Foreign Secretary announced.

 

Oh  _fuck_. Q had noticed a Richard Farley during his investigation into Stephen. Farley was mentioned as Stephen's friend from uni, and was the one to suggest he go to MI5 in the first place. That meant Farley would surely take Stephen's side in anything. How was he supposed to get anything productive done?

 

"Quartermaster? Is there a problem?" The Foreign Secretary's question jerked Q out of his panic attack.

 

 _Yes there is. The man you just assigned me to is a piece of shit. He harasses people too vulnerable to fight back. And HR didn't do anything to him. What's stopping him from doing it again, now that he knows HR doesn't care even though they're supposed to?_ Q wanted to yell. Everything has been going downhill, and just when he thought nothing could get worse, he got  _this_. But all that slipped out his lips was a murmur of "Everything's fine, sir." 

 

It was unfair. But what else could he do? All the rest of Stephen's colleagues were either mysteriously missing, still under investigation or connected to SPECTRE. And he still needed to get on with his job. Lives depended on it. He knew the Foreign Secretary's decision wouldn't be changed. He needed to show people he was changing the structure of things decisively. So it was best if he just got on with the the programme and go back to work as soon as possible. And besides, Q had worked with gits before. He knew how to handle them. Everything would be just fine.

 

* * *

  

Surprisingly enough, neither of them made any trouble. Stephen was brusque, curt and abrasive-in other words, his usual self towards Q. Farley was much the same, but politer. It seemed Stephen's professionalism won out over his lechery; for now, anyway. Who knows what he would be like when things have calmed down somewhat. And Farley was still a mystery. Q didn't know if this was his true behaviour, or if he would be another Stephen underneath the facade.

 

As they went through the list of Q-Branch personnel and equipment logs in Q's office, with Stephen actually asking intelligent questions instead of his usual quibbling over trivial things, Q began to feel as though this might actually work. He still felt uncomfortable around Stephen, but he could focus on work with this version of him around, instead of feeling on edge all the time waiting for the inevitable grope. Farley was intelligent, too. Q could see why he lead MI5's Tech Section. He wondered if he should try and convince Farley to join MI6, as he seemed good enough to be Q's second right-hand man. Things at Q-Branch were getting to be a bit too much for both him and R to handle, but there had been no minion who showed leadership potential. With a bit of time to familiarise himself with Q-Branch, Farley-

 

Q hurriedly banished the fledgling plan away. He still didn't know what Farley was like, as Q-Branch and MI5's Tech Section rarely interacted before the whole merger business. Q didn't know if he was a harasser too, and he refused to allow anyone who could harm his minions into Q-Branch. Better he and R be busier than they would like then to have a bastard preying on his minions.

 

 

It was their second day working together when there was a knock on the door. "Q?" It was R. She sounded worried and exhausted-then again, who in MI6 doesn't these days? Everybody, from the 00s to the new trainees, the executives to the interns, was working double time to clear SPECTRE from MI6. Everybody was questioned, everybody was overworked. Q wondered how many of the trainees they were currently fast-tacking through their training would actually make it out of the crisis alive.

 

"Yes, R?" Q sighed as he let her in. Another problem _again_. Fuck this. Fuck SPECTRE, fuck traitors, fuck... _everything_.

 

"M's called you to his office, said it's urgent."

 

Q grimaced. Whatever this was, it would be bad, if M was summoning him directly to his office. 

 

* * *

  

"A  _what_ , now, sir?" Q said disbelievingly.

 

"A _rest_ , Q. Surely your massive vocabulary has this word in it. Get some rest."

 

"With all due respect, sir-"

 

"It's an  _order_ , Q." M cut him off. "You're dead on your feet. Go home, get some sleep, and eat actual food. You've got two days' leave."

 

"There's still too much to be done,  _and you know it_. I still need to-"

 

"Run missions, fend off hackers trying to take advantage of our momentary weakness, build new equipment at record speeds for the sudden influx of missions, et cetera. Don't you think I don't know that, Q? All mission files passed through my hands when I sign on them. Which is why I know the world won't end if you take a little break. Let Farley and Jones do their job."

 

M sighed at the aghast expression on Q's face. "Look, Q-you've been working the hardest out of all of us. I know you have- _issues_ to deal with, and I know you'll deal with it better with some time to yourself-",  Q flinched. It was true. It seems his blond-haired blue-eyed 'issue' had been more obvious than he would have liked. Damn spies and their perceptiveness, his boss was telling him to manage his heartbreak. His _boss_. This was mortifying. 

 

"By the way-I really,  _really_ wished I could have let you off the hook for the car, Q. I understand Bond is a selfish, but brilliant  prat. He could easily bypass your security and take the car. You’ve done so much good, a little bit of leeway is deserved." A little leeway  _his beautifully pert arse._ That DB10 was a massive loss. And there was no doubt Mallory understood why Q did it, he probably used to steal people’s belongings just like Bond did in his time as a field agent. He wondered just what it said about him that he was aiding a very dangerous group of people to do morally dubious things, but shut down that train of thought before it could go any further. "-but CCTV footage showed you ‘goading’ him to take the car, according to HR. The HR reps and Accounting have been bugging me about it." Really? Alright, he admitted dangling the DB10 in front of Bond like a particularly costly, tempting carrot may not be the best idea but it was to tell the agent to behave! And _now_ HR wants to get involved? It was just skill that allowed Bond to get away with his larceny! 

 

Noticing the expression on Q's face when he mentioned HR, M said seriously "Is there something you would like to tell me, Quartermaster?" while giving him a Look.

 

Shit. It was Mallory's Problem Voice. He used that voice to admirable effect, weaseling out details of unpleasant events and secrets from the recipients. Q had never thought it would be directed at him. After all, he was good at his job. The few times he made mistakes, he could always charm people into tolerating or outright forgetting his actions. There was a reason why he was Quartermaster when he was scarcely twenty-seven beyond his competence and Q-Branch loving him. A great deal of politicking had also occured. He never understood why people assumed he was socially awkward when he was almost as good as his agents at people. It was probably the bad jokes and his adorable looks-but they hid an undercurrent of steel in his spine. It was why his mistakes had never reached Mallory.

 

“Nothing, sir.”

 

Mallory’s only response was to scrutinize him heavily. Q looked him in the eye steadily, not faltering in his lie. 

 

“Will the problem you have with HR interfere with your work?” Mallory finally asked. 

 

“No, as there is no problem whatsoever, sir.” 

 

To his surprise, Mallory let out a despairing sigh. “Q, I know that sometimes HR prioritizes the wrong people in situations between employees. If there was an incident that had been ignored, you can tell me. Especially if you have to be interacting with the other party in the incident. It does no good to productivity to have you be nervous around people you need to work with. I’ll have a word with HR and you can be assured that the problem will be dealt with.”

 

Q winced. “I doubt we have the manpower to spare for any of that-even if there  _was_ something wrong in the first place,” he added hastily when it looked like Mallory was ready to shoot someone. 

 

Mallory grimaced. “If there is any problem you encountered-I repeat, _any_ problem-my door is always open, Q,” he said in a comforting voice. 

 

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

 

”Please do. Now go home. I’ve arranged a driver to bring you to your flat safely. And I’ve told R to lock you out of the system for the duration of your leave, so don’t even think about working from home.”

 

Q scowled at being read so easily. “But what about R, sir? When would she get some rest?”

 

”She already did. She went back to her flat last night. A bit later than you and I would like, but she still got some decent sleep. She also came to work much later today compared to her usual schedule. The fact you didn’t notice it at all is alarming. Now for the last time- _rest.”_

 

Q nodded and got up. As soon as he did, black spots entered his vision. He felt himself sway. When he came to, it was to find himself sprawled on the visitor’s chair in M’s office with Mallory and Eve’s faces inches away from his own.

 

”I’m doubling your leave,” M immediately declared. “Eve, bring him to the driver and tell him to make sure Q got into his flat safely.”

 

Q tried to protest the length of his leave, but found his body not cooperating. He blacked out again.

 

* * *

 

Q kicked out with a start when he felt his trousers being pulled off. He hurriedly scrambled away from his attacker while screaming his head off, only to fall off the bed. _His_ bed, in fact.

 

”How-“ he got out before Mallory walked to him. 

 

“Sir!?” Q squawked. “What are you doing here!?” Realizing he was on his back trouserless in front of his boss, Q hurriedly stood up while righting his clothes. But Mallory stopped him. He gently pushed Q to sit on his bed. 

 

After making sure Q wouldn’t damage something from falling, Mallory said: “Eve chided me for being a massive hypocrite and told me to go home. I couldn’t really argue with her, as I myself almost fainted after the exertion of helping Eve with lifting your alarmingly light body up so she can sling your arm over her shoulder. Since the car was already waiting, I don’t see why I should take a separate car. I decided to make sure you got home safely while at it. I also tried to make you rest more comfortably-which was why I tried to take off your suit. I do apologize for that.”

 

”It’s alright, sir.”

 

“I caused quite a sensation among the other residents when I came to the building with your unconscious body in tow. Your desi neighbour in particular looked ready to club me to death with her handbag.”

 

”Mrs. Dewan’s handbag is very dangerous, sir. You should count yourself lucky to escape it,” Q snarked before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He immediately reddened when he realised what he was doing.

 

Mallory chuckled. “She interrogated me about why exactly you were in such a bad state, but softened when I told her I’m your colleague and that you overworked yourself. She then said your cats are missing you terribly, and that she would bring them to you along with some dinner at eight o’clock.”

 

“Wait- _dinner_? What time is it?”

 

Q turned to the clock on his bedside table. It was thirty-seven minutes past five at Monday.

 

Q groaned. No wonder all his neighbours were aflutter. He lived in a two-bedroom flat on the topmost floor of a four-story Victorian house where the residents were mostly families and pensioners. Everybody would see him being brought back as they would be at home on Monday evening.

 

“I’ll leave you to your rest, Quartermaster. I’ll just see myself out, no need to tire you more.”

 

Mallory was halfway to Q’s bedroom door when Q exclaimed “Wait, sir!”

 

Mallory turned to him, puzzled. “You’re just as exhausted as I am, sir. I have a spare futon. You can sleep there. And don’t even think of rejecting the offer,” Q cut Mallory off when he opened his mouth.

 

”Alright, Q. Where’s this futon of yours?”

 

”Wait here, sir.”

 

Q went into his closet. He pulled out the futon he kept in the topmost shelf. He also took his and Daddy’s pyjamas. His father sometimes stayed the night on weekends when he visited Q. His pyjamas would fit Mallory perfectly.

 

”Here you go, sir.”

 

Q handed the items over to Mallory, minus his own nightclothes. He went to the en suite to change and use the loo. When he got out, he found that Mallory had changed and already asleep while snoring lightly. Smiling slightly, he put his spectacles on his nightstand before snuggling into his own bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 


	4. Food for Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gets a new perspective on his life.
> 
> Bond is starting to regret his decisions-not that he'd ever admit that, even(especially) to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for a while. I hope this chapter makes it up to you, lovely readers and subscribers.
> 
> Also-I don't know if I should give a warning here, but Bond is having difficulties with brain injury, so if you find it difficult to read it, avoid the third section of this chapter. And I took a bit of artistic liberty-I don't know if the specific type of injury will cause exactly what I described. I looked at a website called Headway and they said brain injuries caused it, but never said the precise type of brain injury.
> 
> So, I took this quote from Dr. Cusimano(apparently lots of people also wondered at the machine at movies.stackexchange) : "Aiming to erase Bond's memory of faces, the villain correctly identified the lateral fusiform gyrus as an area of the brain responsible for recognizing faces...But in practice, the drill was placed in the wrong area, where it likely would have triggered a stroke or massive hemorrhage."

The doorbell speaker Q installed in his room cheerfully announced he had a visitor. Groaning at being woken up, Q stumbled out of bed before putting on his speactacles. He shuffled over to the work area he set up in his room. He used the spare room for his studio, and since he only needed his laptop for coding, it was just a desk with shelving and an ergonomic chair. He took his dressing gown off the chair it was haphazardly draped over and wrapped himself up in it as though he was trying to swaddle himself. Actually, that wasn’t a bad thought-all bundled up, maybe under his electric blanket, just  _being still_ and not having anything that needed his attention. 

 

Q turned and saw that Mallory was sitting up and blinking blearily at his surroundings.

 

”Good mor-wait, no; good evening, sir.”

 

Q grinned. It felt strangely good, seeing Mallory who was usually so put together be puzzled and rumpled. It was probably the sheer  _normality_ of it-this was a man just like any other, with a good heart and a sharp mind, who was working together with him on the same side. For the first time ever, Q saw Mallory as more than his boss-he saw him as a person. He felt like a student who just realized their teacher did, in fact, have a life of their own beyond teaching them.

 

”Good evening to you too, Q. Why exactly do you have a doorbell speaker in here?”

 

”I sometimes get so engrossed in whatever I do that I don’t hear the bell ringing. So I made sure to have speakers in nearly every room. It would be poor form to leave my visitors waiting.”

 

”I see. Do you get visitors often?”

 

Q’s smile evaporated off his face.

 

“Not anymore, sir.”

 

Mallory looked like a deer in headlights. Q cursed internally. That part of his life was something he hated. He’d made his peace with it, but his heart still ached when he thought of it. He knew it was in his file, as it was mandatory for high-ranking personnel to submit their pressure points so they wouldn’t be compromised, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be reminded of how he lost his friends after he came out as gay.

 

“Let’s see what Mrs. Dewan has brought us, shall we?” Q mumbled while hurrying to his bedroom door. 

 

“Yes, let’s,” he heard Mallory mumble back behind him, clearly relieved for the change in subject.

 

Q could hear his babies screaming when he stepped into his sitting room. His flat wasn’t particularly large. It had two bedrooms, one he used for sleeping and one he used for painting, as it had better light. His kitchen, dining room and sitting room used to be combined together, but he had them separated. He hated having to see the kitchen mess when he ate, and having the smell of food imprinted on his sofa. He made his sitting room be the center of his flat, with the doors to the bedroom and studio on the right and doors to his kitchen and dining room on the left. His guest bathroom was also on the left side of his flat. 

 

He opened the door and saw Mrs. Dewan holding a large Tupperware filled with food and her wife holding his screaming cats in their carrier.

 

”Benjamin! How are you? Are you feeling better yet? Your friend-“ she nodded to Mallory, “brought you here half-dead! Honestly, you need to take much better care of yourself!” Mrs. Dewan scolded him. Q instantly felt cowed, which was ridiculous, considering she was a tiny middle-aged woman. Her short silver bob swung as she shook her head at him. “You keep going on like that, and you’d die from overwork!” 

 

“Sorry, Mrs. Dewan-I mean, Anjali. I’ll try.” He lied through his teeth.

  

“Think of your cats, Ben. Here you go-they need to be cuddled by you.” Mrs. Dewan’s wife gave the carrier to him. Thanking her, he placed it on the floor before letting his cats out. He was immediately tackled by two yowling balls of fluff.

 

Q heard Mallory and the Dewans laugh, but he didn’t care. He was too busy reassuring his cats that he was alive and hadn’t abandoned them.

 

”So,” he heard Mrs. Dewan say. “I’m afraid I didn't get your name yesterday. I’m Anjali Dewan.”

 

”And I’m Isabella Dewan neé Miller.”

 

“I’m Gareth Mallory.”

 

They shook hands.

 

“Good thing I made enough chicken for you, too. I just wanted to give Ben some leftovers, but it should be enough for you to also eat dinner. I didn’t know you’d be staying. I thought you’d just drop Ben off and have the driver take you home.”

 

”Good God-we forgot to tell the driver to go back!” Mallory exclaimed.

 

”This is why you two need to rest. The poor man waited nearly half an hour before he went up to check on you two. We had to tell him you must be sleeping over at Benjamin’s, as you didn’t go out after you went in. Honestly, I think you two need to take at least a week’s holiday.”

 

”I doubt that will happen any time soon, dear. MI6 must be in an uproar over the whole Nine-Eyes trouble.” Isabella sighed. Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief when Mallory and Q stared at her in shock.

 

“Really, Bella? You know we’re not supposed to say that.”

 

”Then he needs to stop making it so obvious. Explosions in another country, and him coming home exhausted? It’s easy to figure it out. I realized who you worked for on the fourth time you did that.” She smirked, and with her cornrows in an updo and her smile so radiant it was easy to see why Anjali Dewan fell for her.

 

“Oh, never mind. So-Ben, Mr. Mallory, I hope you will stop being so busy soon. Here you go, eat dinner and go to sleep. You two look on the verge of death.” 

 

 “Thank you, Mrs. Dewan.” Mallory and Q said simultaneously. 

 

“Thanks for the food, Mrs. Dewan, but you don’t have to feed me all the time. I can cook too, you know. Next time, I’ll do it myself so I won’t bother you.” Q added.

 

”Ben, how many times must I tell you until you get it into your brain? Call me Anjali. And you’re no bother. You’re our friend. That’s what friends do for each other. That goes for you too, Mr. Mallory. Any friend of Ben’s is a friend of ours. You can call me Anjali.”

 

”Then in that case, you must call me Gareth too. Thank you, Anjali.”

 

”You're welcome. Here you go, I hope you like the chicken.” She gave Mallory the Tupperware container as Q was still holding his cats. “We’ve already fed the cats, Ben, so don’t believe their mewing. Bye!”

 

”Bye.”

 

The couple then went back into their flat, leaving Mallory and Q alone.

 

Q stood up with one of his cats under each arm. “Let’s eat the chicken then, shall we? I’ll go set the table, sir, after I put the cats in my room so they won’t bother you.”

 

”Don’t call me sir, Q. I think we’re close enough for you to drop it. Call me Gareth. And you don’t need to put your cats away, they’re perfectly lovely.”

 

”If I won’t, they’ll stare up at us pathetically and beg for food. They’re worse than Puss in Boots!”

 

“Then in that case, I think it’s better if we’re separated. I’ll never be able to resist them and they’ll be fed things they’re not supposed to eat.”

 

”I’ll do that, then. And Gareth-you can call me Ben.” Q smiled at Mallory.

 

Mallory smiled back. Q led him to his kitchen, and he set the Tupperware on the dining table when they entered it. Then Q went back to his bedroom while shushing the cats who realized he was going to separate himself from them again. Once done, he went back to his dining room. When he arrived, he saw that Mallory had opened the container and the delicious smell of tandoori chicken filled up the space. The container had two compartments: one filled with chicken and another filled with yellow rice. Mallory had also set the table.

 

Mallory emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. “I took the liberty of making us both chamolile tea, Q. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

”No-not at all.”

 

They had just sat down when Q asked, "Sir-I mean Gareth-do you want a drink? I think I still have some whisky left." The whisky was Bond's. But it's not like the sod was coming back, and the least Q deserved was a stiff drink for all the trouble Bond had brought him.

 

"I wouldn't mind a bit of whisky. Thank you, Ben." Gareth smiled as Q went back to his kitchen. He came out with two crystal tumblers and a half-full 25-year-old bottle of Macallan. Mallory's brows rose at the costly drink, but he didn't comment.

 

Q poured two fingers of whiskey into each tumbler, reasoning that they both needed it. He handed Mallory his drink, and said, while trying not to feel stupid, "To Queen and country." with a wry smile. They clinked their glasses together and drank deeply. Q could already feel the alcohol clouding his mind, and realized it probably wasn't a good idea to drink on an empty stomach in front of his boss. He set his tumbler aside before digging in to his meal. He barely noticed Mallory doing the same, so focused was he on the first decent meal he had in a week.

 

Q was about halfway through his dinner when he realized Mallory was eyeing him rather strangely. Frowning, he asked: “What’s wrong, sir?”

 

Mallory put his eating utensils down and said quietly:”I’m sorry for my prying earlier, Ben. I must have brought up some very painful memories, and for that I apologize.”

 

Q gave him a small, surprised smile. “There’s nothing to apologize for, si-Gareth. I suspect I’m still going to call you sir for a while.” 

 

”From what I’ve seen with Anjali, I’m sure you’ll never stop.” Both of them let out a chuckle at that.

 

Mallory looked at Q with an intense look, before saying softly: “You know, Ben, sometimes I think you’re too young and good to be Quartermaster.”

 

Q tensed up. His good mood instantly disappeared and was replaced by anger. He was _not_ having his competence doubted by a temporary guest. He had just opened his mouth for an angry retort when Mallory said: "It's just-you could be so much  _more_. You could-I don't know-go work for Google or Apple or even start your own tech company and make the world so much better. Yet here you are, slaving away at MI6, dealing with betrayal and death and gore. And when I look at your accomplishments before you entered the world of espionage, I just-" Mallory cleared his throat. "-it's unfair, Q. You had so many opportunities and you had to work for us, doing things that should have been done by bitter old men like me."

 

Q deflated. He understood Mallory's reasoning. He'd never told anybody, but sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, or after a particularly grueling mission, he'd wondered if it was all worth it. He wondered if the nightmares he sometimes had and all the deaths he had heard over the coms, the joy he felt over a finished invention or a saved agent was worth not being arrested. On good days he'd say yes. On bad days-he wanted to scream and tear MI6 down. 

 

"You're hardly bitter, sir. In fact, I think you're like candy floss-soft and sweet and fluffy." Mallory seemed to take umbrage at being compared to a fragile snack. Why, Q didn't understand when the sugary miracle that were sweets was a perfectly lovely thing to be compared to. "That aside-it was my choice to work for MI6."

 

"Yes, a choice between spending your youth in prison or working for the government. Not much of a choice, was it?"

 

"It turned out well."

 

"That's not the point, Q-the point is that your talent is languishing away in a tunnel-"

 

"My talent is not  _languishing away._ I built new weapons and tools and protected my country. They helped people."

 

Mallory sighed. He started rubbing his forehead. "I don't want you to turn out like me, or like the agents, Ben. We're old and hard and angry; and paranoid at everything. That innocence and wonder you have-I don't want you to lose it to an agent's death, or something worse."

 

Innocence? He was everything  _but_ innocent. "Sir, I  _killed_ people. I rose to be Quartermaster of MI6 by being the best. I am not innocent, haven't been for a long time."

 

Mallory smiled a soft, sad smile. "That's true. But nobody can deny you have some softness and kindness the rest of us don't really have. And I don't want you to lose that."

 

Q scowled. He often had lovers remark on his vulnerability; understood that he often looked more like a lost fawn or a fluffy kitten. "Let's just eat, sir." He was far too tired to think on anything, and the food was getting cold. "Mrs. Dewan's cooking is wonderful, and we should appreciate it. Let's save the arguing for another time." Q took a swig of chamomile tea. 

 

“Oh, alright," Mallory huffed.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was over. The plates and cutlery had been put in Q's countertop dishwasher, the crystal set to dry on the dish rack. Mallory had insisted that he be allowed to wash the tumblers as he was staying at Q's, but Q denied him. They compromised by letting him load the dishwasher as Q washed the crystal.

 

They shuffled back to Q’s bedroom, full and sleepy. Q was just about to enter his en suite when he remembered Mallory would also want to shower. Q sheepishly turned to Mallory and was just about to offer the use of his en suite when Mallory asked "May I use your guest bathroom, Q? I seem to remember you telling Eve about having to replace the shower curtains there because your cats clawed it to bits."

 

"You can shower here, Gareth. I'll just use the guest bathroom."

 

"Nonsense! I've intruded on you enough. And you need to shower just as much as I do, and since this is _your_ flat, it would be very rude to make you shower there."

 

"Well then-toothbrushes, towels and toiletries are under the sink. Please wait here while I get you new pyjamas." Q went into his closet and dug out the only remaining pair of pyjamas his father used. Although they had the same height, his father was much broader while Q had inherited his mother's slenderness. That meant his pajamas would be too small for Mallory, which was a shame, considering the neon purple of his father's sleepwear.

 

Q gave the rather tacky pyjamas to Mallory with a murmured apology. While he loved the bright colour, he knew many didn't share his tastes.

 

"Well, it seems I know where you got your fashion sense from, Ben." Mallory chuckled as he looked at the garish nightwear.

 

Q couldn't help but snort. 

 

* * *

 

James woke to the light of a Parisian streetlamp. No, it was the light of the sun. Grimacing, he carefully-as carefully as his currently trembling hands would allow, anyway-disentangled himself from Madeleine. He stumbled over to the en suite of their luxurious five-star hotel room with a lovely view of the Eiffel Tower, his balance shot because of the weakness on his left side. He shakily turned on the faucet at the sink and washed his face using only his right hand. Funny, how Eve and Patrice both shot him on his right side yet it was his left arm that was less mobile than his right. He looked at himself in the mirror. The marks from Blofeld's machine were nearly gone, only a tiny scab to show it ever existed at all. But the damage inside was much, much worse. Damn Blofeld's machine. While he had subtly adjusted himself to avoid the drill from hell damaging his ability to recognise faces, it had left him with a brain injury-a hemorrhage, most likely-that left him unable to function properly. Madeleine hadn't known, of course. Her attachment to him had left her too compromised to remember the damage the machine could do. Bond had carefully pretended everything was perfectly fine. He knew he risked collapsing soon, that he may end up worse if he didn't go to a hospital right now. 

 

But it meant he may lose his chance at happiness. Not being properly diagnosed meant not knowing the full extent of the damage. He could still lie to himself. 

 

" _'The spy who died because of his own lies'_. As far as epitaphs go, that's not too bad." Bond muttered. It was certainly a very common death in the espionage world. He had lied to countless people and now he was lying to himself. A poetic end to a brutal life.

 


End file.
